Breathe Easy
by Loopstagirl
Summary: Being sick never comes at a good time. Especially not when the world is relying on you.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing, just borrowing them._

_Happy birthday, Angel-Sue! Have a lovely day. I hope this ticks a few things that you asked for!_

* * *

Virgil shivered, reached over to turn the temperature up and cleared his throat. The extra heat made him sigh, the pounding water finally starting to ease his aching muscles. He cleared his throat again.

As much as he wanted to stay in the shower, debriefing wouldn't wait. He regretfully stopped the water, clearing his throat for a third time and reached for his towel. Drying off, he tried to ignore the tickle building in his throat, but to no avail. No sooner had he pulled on the first pair of jeans he saw, he coughed properly, taking himself by surprise as much as anything. The rescue had been full of smoke and fire though, and he assumed that had something to do with it.

He paused at his door, clearing his throat again as best he could. The last thing he needed was for Scott to hear him cough and start making his own assumptions. He would never live it down.

He moved quickly, entering his father's office. His brother was already there, one leg crossed over the other as he lent back in the chair. He sat up straighter when Virgil appeared though, slipping back into his role as a Field Commander as Virgil took his own seat.

The debriefing was a straightforward one. Despite the ferocity of the forest fires, they knew how to handle it and it hadn't taken long before they had got the blaze under control. Virgil was content to let Scott talk; his brother had taken the lead on the ground, after all, and had been the one to liaise with the authorities.

Most of their debriefings were made up of examining where the local teams had failed. Sometimes, the job was simply too big. But other times, budget cuts and negligence were more dangerous than the rescue at hand and if that was the case, they tried to come up with solutions. Nothing was more annoying than being called to the same area time after time because some politician had decided to cut the budget to build himself a mansion.

"Virg?"

Virgil blinked. He didn't realise he had tuned out, thinking about their problems rather than listening to what Scott was saying. He normally had a comment or two to add but just shrugged this time.

"Sounds about right," he muttered, swallowing hard as the tickle made itself known again. His father accepted his words, not seeming to realise he hadn't been listening, but Virgil purposefully avoided Scott's gaze as his brother frowned at him.

"In that case, dismissed," their father said, leaning back in his chair. "Your grandmother saved you some lunch."

Scott grinned and leapt up. Virgil followed at a more leisurely pace but was surprised to find his brother waiting for him outside of the door.

"Forget the way to the kitchen?"

"What's up?"

Virgil started, trying not to look guilty. "Nothing. Why?"

"You're quiet. You're flushed. And you normally have a rant or two ready when I mentioned local services getting in our way. You didn't listen to a word of that, did you?"

"I did!" Virgil protested, running a hand over his neck. Scott's eyebrow rose.

"Maybe two words…" he added sheepishly. "I'm just tired."

"Uh huh."

"What?"

"Nothing." There was a knowing smirk on Scott's face, despite his attempt to look innocent. Virgil knew that look and he glared at his brother.

"I'm fin-," he broke off, swallowing hard against the cough building in his throat. His attempt to speak around it would have been embarrassing if he cared; his voice hadn't been that high for a long time!

He gave in, coughed, and resumed glaring at his brother. "One tickle," he said, "that's it."

"Sure." Scott still sounded disbelieving and Virgil shoved him before leading the way to the kitchen, Scott on his heels.

"I did tell you not to take your helmet off," his brother called after him. Virgil, safe in the knowledge that Scott was behind him and couldn't see, rolled his eyes.

"And don't roll your eyes, you know I'm right."

"How did you-," Virgil whirled around but Scott just grinned, pushing past him to enter the kitchen first. Their grandmother was waiting for them and Virgil used Scott's distraction to cough again. Not that he would ever admit it, but he hoped his brother was right. He had taken his helmet off while the smoke was still thick and he crossed his fingers that was enough to explain away his tickling throat.

He refused to think about not feeling quite right before they had left the Base before the rescue. It was nothing he could put his finger on, nothing worth reporting because he knew it wouldn't impact his performance. But he did have a horrible feeling he couldn't blame the smoke…

"It's hot, Virgil, dear," his grandmother said, "stop lurking in the doorway."

He forced a smile and took his plate from her. He glanced at it and felt his stomach roll.

"Okay if I take it outside, Grandma?" He gave her his best winning smile. "All that smoke at the danger zone means I fancy some fresh air."

"Of course. Off you go." She gestured for him to leave. "Not you, Scott. You're already sitting down and eating: stay there."

Virgil grinned and made his escape. He did what he said he would; taking the plate outside and attempting to pick. But his appetite was gone and the idea of food didn't sit well.

He waited for long enough to know the coast would be clear. Scott was a man of habit, despite his vehement protests otherwise. After he had eaten, he would go down to the silos and start checking over One, despite already knowing if damage had been sustained or not. Their grandmother would wait until he had left the kitchen, then take their father a coffee and get the details of the rescue from him.

Virgil slipped into the empty kitchen and disposed of his almost untouched lunch, feeling guilty as he did so. He tidied up after himself and left the kitchen, pausing. Sometimes he would join his brother in the silos, sometimes he would paint, or walk along the beach.

But right now, none of those options appealed. What he really wanted was a nap…

Checking no one was around, Virgil slipped back to his room. His actions were more likely to draw their attention; there was nothing wrong with him returning to his own bedroom. But he closed the door behind him, thought for a moment and locked it, knowing Gordon would burst in otherwise.

Then he crashed down face first on his bed and was asleep as soon as his body relaxed.

* * *

A couple of hours later and he felt much better. He had slept deeply and felt refreshed for it. He joined the family for dinner and was relieved to see no one had noticed he had been missing all afternoon. Despite living on an island, they all knew the importance of privacy and if one of them disappeared – whether into their room, the beach or even the cliffs on the far side of the island – the others didn't push for answers unless they were voluntarily given.

Thankfully, the sleep helped and he was able to eat his dinner. He didn't go for seconds like Scott and Gordon, but neither did he draw his grandmother's attention.

"John reported that the earthquake threat in the Pacific has passed," their dad said when all the plates were clear. "We can stand down from high alert on that one."

"Now, Jefferson, no rescue talk at the dinner table."

Virgil was not the only one to hide a smirk at his grandmother's disapproving look. He looked up, caught Scott's eye as they both suppressed identical grins. But then Scott's smile slipped and he frowned, his eyes asking a question. Virgil frowned back, shaking his head, telling his brother without words he was fine.

"Dad," Alan suddenly said, making Virgil jump. "They're doing it again."

Virgil looked away from Scott, realising their younger brother was watching them. He chuckled.

"Nice try, kid," he said. He and Scott could read each other, they didn't need anything more. That didn't mean other members of the family didn't try ways of communicating without words. "Gordon told you to meet him by the pool after dinner."

"I did not!"

"No?" Virgil grinned, casually drumming his fingers on the table. Both younger brothers exchanged startled glances and Scott laughed.

"John deciphered your code months ago," he told them, "why do you think you haven't caught us out for ages?"

It hadn't taken them long to realise their brothers' insistent drumming on the table was code, and once they had figured that out, John set to work. He wasn't their communicator just because he was a good listener.

Gordon opened his mouth, but their grandmother got there first by taking his empty plate.

"That will do, boys. If you're finished, run along. And stay out of the water, Gordon, you've just eaten."

"Yes, Ma'am." Gordon muttered, ears flaming as he dragged Alan from the table, hissing something in his ear as he did so.

Virgil watched them go. "You know they'll come up with something new now?"

"Let them try," Scott said, stretching, "we'll figure it out the day after they do."

Their father also left; business calls around the world needing his attention at all times of the day. Scott stood up.

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks," Virgil muttered. He was tired again, and could feel another tickle building in his throat. It felt worse than earlier. He grabbed a glass of water instead, following Scott into the lounge. Crashing onto the sofa, he coughed again as he sank into it.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Scott-," Virgil whined, dragging his brother's name out, "leave me alone."

"Just asking. You don't look so good."

"I don't?" Apart from a tickle in his throat, Virgil felt okay. Tired, maybe more than usual, but they had been busy with rescues and not everyone got a high from the adrenaline rush the way Scott seemed to. His brother shook his head but Virgil just shrugged.

"Just tired," he admitted, knowing he had to give Scott something.

"You should get an early night," Scott told him. "The earthquake might have passed but everything else seems to have gone to hell recently. Make sure you're rested for the next rescue."

"Yes, Sir."

"Shut up," Scott scowled at him, "I have to know you're fit for duty."

"I'm awesome," Virgil yawned. But he stood up, realising that his brother's idea of an early night sounded appealing. Scott looked astonished when Virgil told him he was going to bed and he was aware of his brother's gaze burning into his back as he left the room but he didn't turn around and Scott didn't follow him.

Shrugging off his clothes, he pulled on a comfortable pair of shorts and, for the second time that day, crashed down on his bed. But as he lay there, the duvet trapped under him, he realised he was hot. Too hot to be able to get comfortable.

It seemed to take a great deal of effort to heave himself off the bed, stumble to the balcony and open the door and then make it back to bed. But the cool breeze was refreshing and it didn't take Virgil long to fall asleep.

He wasn't sure what woke him. The raging sore throat, the pounding in his head or the fact he was shivering uncontrollably.

He was coughing before he properly woke up, attempting to stifle it and making himself cough more. He knew he should get up: get some water and shut the door. But it took all of his energy to drag the covers out from under his body and wrap them around him. It didn't stop him from shivering though and another coughing fit took over, stealing his breath as he tried to shift position.

He didn't hear the door open but the bed suddenly dipped under another's weight.

"Here." His father's voice was calm and reassuring, almost as soothing as the glass of water he held up, helping Virgil drink some. For a moment, he could only splutter through it, but the liquid soothed the tickle and he was able to catch his breath. His father took that moment to rest his hand against his forehead.

"You're burning up, Virg."

"Not," Virgil muttered, his teeth chattering, "cold."

"'fraid not, kiddo," his dad said. He got up and shut the balcony door, but disappeared into the bathroom before coming back with something in his hand. Virgil whined when a cold, damp towel pressed against his neck. He tried to move away, but his father wouldn't let him.

"Stop it." There was a mixture of fondness and firmness in his voice and Virgil stayed still, even though his teeth were still chattering. He tried to speak, but his throat protested violently and it was all he could do to focus on breathing while another coughing fit tore through him. One hand rubbed across his chest as the muscles pulled against the fit.

"Easy," his father said. Virgil was vaguely aware of him putting the glass down but didn't think anything of it until a strong grip suddenly helped him to sit up. He tried to keep hold of the duvet, but his father prised it from his grip, drawing it down until it was over his legs rather than up under his chin. Virgil could almost _feel_ the wave of heat that escaped him, but it didn't explain why he felt cold.

The new positioned helped ease the pressure in his chest and another sip of water calmed his throat. He lent back, exhausted.

"Sucks," he muttered, his eyes widening at how hoarse his voice was. Talking hurt and he winced, trying to swallow against the next cough. His dad pushed the glass back into his hand.

"Sip it," he instructed, positioning the towel against his neck again before leaving the room. He wasn't gone long before returning with a small tray of tablets in his hand. Virgil shook his head.

"I'm fine," he protested, hoping his dad suddenly couldn't hear how rough his voice was. His father didn't even react, choosing instead to ignore him as he popped a couple of the tablets and held them out on the palm of his hand.

"I don't-,"

"You don't have a choice. Either that or I get the thermometer."

Virgil scowled. If his father was also digging his heels in, he knew he didn't have a choice. They had learnt their stubbornness from somewhere, after all, although his faint memories of his mother meant he knew it wasn't all from his dad. But if he got the thermometer and proved his temperature was high, Virgil knew the man would drag him to the infirmary just to make him do as he was told.

He took the tablets and obediently swallowed them, although grimaced as he did so and kept hold of the water as the action brought about another coughing fit. His dad perched on the edge of the bed.

"How long have you been feeling ill?" he asked. "Scott told me you removed your helmet, but this isn't a little smoke inhalation."

"Scott's a snitch," Virgil muttered, leaning his head back.

"Don't deflect, Virgil." His father could see through him almost as well as Scott could. "How long have you been feeling ill?"

Virgil shrugged. "Felt a bit off earlier," he admitted, his voice quiet in the hope it didn't spark off another coughing fit.

"Before the rescue?"

He avoided his father's gaze, studying the bedspread instead.

"Why didn't you say something? Gordon could have gone in your place!"

"I'm not – I wasn't ill," he amended, "just a little tired, that's all. Slept this afternoon, thought it was gone."

His dad nodded. At least he accepted the truth, unlike Scott, who would be adamant Virgil had been hiding it for longer than that. His dad's hand rested comfortably against his ankle for a moment before he stood up. He refilled the glass before brushing a hand through Virgil's hair.

"Try and get some more sleep, Virg," he murmured softly. Virgil nodded miserably, realising the tablets were already working and his temperature seemed to be balancing. At least his teeth had stopped chattering.

"M'fine," he slurred, already giving in to sleep. He heard his father chuckle as he moved towards the door.

"Nice try," he said, "you're grounded until I clear you."

Virgil wanted to protest, but he coughed instead. His dad hesitated but Virgil waved him out. The man couldn't sit with him all night and now he had a drink, he could handle it himself. He took a sip, sighing in relief as it eased his throat, and sank back against the pillows.

It wasn't a particularly comfortable way of sleeping. But sitting upright helped keep the coughs at bay and it wasn't long before he dozed back off.

He slept badly, several coughing fits waking him up. He tried to suppress them, not wanting to disturb the rest of the family, but wasn't certain how successful he was. He heard Scott slip out for his run but was asleep when his brother got back and didn't hear the rest of the family getting up.

It was the rumble of engines shaking the house that woke him. Virgil moved before he thought about it, his heart pounding and hands shaking. He stumbled towards the door but was brought up short by a coughing fit. By the time he could breathe again, Thunderbird One had long gone and he would never get to the silos in time to stop Two launching without him.

He made it to his door and out into the hallway, but met his dad coming up the stairs.

"Thought I'd find you up," the man said with a smile. He took Virgil's elbow and led him – protesting – back to bed.

"There's a rescue?" Virgil managed to splutter between coughs. He hoped none of his brothers ever found out how easily his father pushed him back down onto the bed and stopped him from rising again just with an arched eyebrow.

"One that your brothers can handle. I told you: you're grounded until further notice. Scott agrees with me."

"You told John," Virgil accused. It was the only reason he could think of as to why the klaxon hadn't gone off; John must have sent the signals via the watches and cut him out of the loop.

"I didn't realise you were planning to keep it a secret."

"But, Dad-," Whatever protest Virgil was about to make (and he was certain it would have been a fantastic one that his dad wouldn't be able to refuse) was lost in another coughing fit. It was worse than before, tearing up from his chest and exploding through his throat, making it feel raw and on fire at the same time. It stole his breath and made his head swim as he struggled to draw breath, only realising once it started to ease that his dad's hand was on his back, rubbing soothingly.

"I don't think you're up to being out of bed, let alone on a rescue. Gordon can handle it, son. Let your brothers save the world this time." His voice was soft and gentle and Virgil made a noise that could have been considered agreement before he realised what he was doing.

"Back into bed," his dad said, holding up the covers so he could get back under them properly. "I'll get your grandmother to bring you a hot drink."

He stood, moving towards the door before looking back with a pointed expression. "I mean it, Virgil. Stay there."

He disappeared before Virgil could argue. He did as he was told though; his dad needed to help Scott co-ordinate the rescue and he knew his brother would find it more challenging. It wasn't that Gordon wasn't capable, more that they were used to working as a pair. Scott didn't need to guide him in the field, Virgil already knew where his brother would want him.

His grandmother didn't leave him waiting for long though and her secret recipe worked better than any of the tablets his father was trying to make him take. His throat didn't feel as if it was full of razor blades for the first time in hours and Virgil was able to doze. His brothers return woke him again and he made half an effort to get out of bed to attend the debriefing. But Scott thundering up the stairs for a shower made him realise there was no point in rushing and he had fallen asleep again before the water stopped running.

* * *

When he next awoke, he felt better. For a half a minute, at least, just long enough for him to make it out of bed, taking a step towards the door and start coughing again.

He couldn't reach his water and Virgil felt himself start to panic as he realised he couldn't breathe and the coughs didn't seem to be stopping. He reached for his watch and would have sworn if he could speak; it was on his bedside table. His dad had taken it off the night before when he had been burning up. It had been within reach this entire time – until now, when he needed it.

He tried to think rationally. He helped save the world on a regular basis and had talked more than one victim back from a panic attack. This was just the same; all he had to do was control his breathing and stop panicking and he'd be okay.

But as he continued to cough, retches wracking his body in protest of what was happening, he realised talking someone else through it was a hell of a lot easier than talking to himself. No matter how he tried to control himself, regardless of what he did to calm down…he couldn't.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't stop coughing and he had no idea what to do. He didn't remember ending up on his knees, or on all fours as he tried to stop himself from being sick. His chest hurt, his throat was on fire and his head pounded angrily.

"Easy, little brother."

Strong hands were suddenly pulling him upright, helping the air move easier through his chest. Scott didn't let go though; one arm looped around him. Virgil lent back, uncaring he was collapsed against his brother. Scott had held him up more than once across the years.

"Can't," he gasped, his breathing picking up and causing him to cough harder as he tried to tell Scott he couldn't breathe. But he had never needed words to get through to his brother.

"Yes, you can." Scott's voice was calm and steady. "Stop breathing through your mouth, Virg. Stop fighting it; stop trying to stop. In through your nose."

Virgil followed Scott's advice. It was a small, sharp inhale, but it was air! As soon as it hit the top of his throat, he coughed again, but Scott kept him upright, ignored the cough and encouraged him to take another breath. It felt like sipping at air, small bursts that weren't enough on their own but gradually got through to his foggy thoughts that he could breathe, wasn't dying and didn't need to panic.

As his chest stopped heaving as much, the coughs started to ease. He stopped retching and eventually fell back against his brother, chest heaving as a final few splutters forced their way out. He was shaking. His head rested back on Scott's shoulder and he closed his eyes.

"I hate being sick," he muttered, sounding as exhausted as he felt.

"No one likes it," Scott said. He didn't let go though and somehow, despite their position, was managing to rub circles on his back as well. Virgil didn't know if it was helping or not but it was comforting and that was enough for him.

"But… you need me." Virgil tried to sit up straighter, tried to hold his own weight rather than leaning on his brother. Scott didn't let him – he didn't even seem to feel his attempts – and Virgil gave up.

"I need you better," Scott said quietly, "you're no good to me like this. C'mon…"

Scott moved and Virgil tried to pretend the whine hadn't come from him. His brother stood before carefully drawing him to his feet. Virgil winced as he straightened out properly; all the muscles in his stomach twinged with the movement and his chest was aching.

"You good?" Scott asked, watching him closely. Virgil nodded: he could move without coughing and, right now, that was all Scott was asking.

He didn't really think about why Scott had made him stand up before he was being guided back to the bed.

"I can help-," Virgil said, only to freeze as he started coughing again. It wasn't as bad as before, although whether that was just because Scott was there to stop him from panicking again, he neither knew nor cared. By the time it passed, he didn't have the strength to resist as his brother manhandled him onto the bed.

"You're a bully," Virgil muttered, his eyes closing tiredly and his body sagging against the pillows.

"I'm your brother," Scott said and Virgil didn't need to see to know he would be shrugging. "And I'm your Field Commander, so if you want to help, then follow my orders and rest."

"Dad'll give me clearance," Virgil murmured, not thinking about what he was saying.

"Yeah, right," Scott said, sounding disbelieving. "You really think he won't run it past me first?"

Virgil would have glared at his brother, but that involved too much effort. He heard Scott take a step and lifted one hand, hoping his brother was where he thought he was.

"Stay?"

This time, he refused to look at his brother, knowing he was blushing. But the idea of having another coughing fit like that one, without Scott there to talk him through it, was enough to make his breathing pick up. He heard his desk chair being pulled around and felt Scott's feet rest on the edge of the bed.

"Always," his brother murmured. "Sleep, Virg. I'm here."

That was all Virgil needed to hear and he fell asleep.

He slept for the rest of the day. Every time he woke, Scott was there. Under his brother's prompting (it was still bullying, whatever Scott called it), he managed to first start drinking a little more and then keep down some soup his grandmother brought it. He had another few bad coughing fits and his throat was still sore. But as evening fell, he felt more worn out than ill.

He had his eyes shut when his father next slipped into the room, but he didn't open them, wanting to hear what was said while they thought he was asleep.

"How is he?"

"Don't know." Scott sounded as tired as Virgil felt and he felt a flicker of guilt at asking Scott to stay. Something told him he hadn't needed to ask though; Scott would have stayed whether Virgil wanted him to or not.

"I think the cough is easing and his temperature hasn't spiked again."

He nearly gave away that he was awake. He didn't recall his brother ever checking his temperature and wondered just how deeply he had been asleep for Scott to get away with it without him realising.

"It's always hard and fast with Virgil," his father said. Scott suddenly made an appreciative noise and Virgil got a waft of coffee. He almost laughed.

"He'll probably be much better by tomorrow," his dad continued. "You should go and get some rest. If there is another call, you haven't got the energy…"

"I'm not leaving him." Scott's tone was flat, an indication he wouldn't accept any arguments. Virgil had never heard him try it on their father before.

"Scott-,"

"No. He wants me here; I'm staying."

"He doesn't want you tiring yourself out."

"I've got my feet up, Dad," Scott said, "it's the most chilled out I've been for weeks."

"I don't believe that," their father muttered, "not with Virgil sick." But there was defeat in his tone and Virgil knew his brother had won. He felt a hand brush through his hair and had to force himself not to react to it. His dad sighed.

"I'll get your grandmother to bring you both something to eat," he said before Virgil heard him leaving.

He made a show of shifting, pretending to be waking up.

"Hey."

Opening his eyes, he saw Scott had shifted from the end of the bed, the coffee placed to one side as he leant forward.

"Hey," Virgil echoed. His voice was hoarse and it hurt, but for the first time all day, talking didn't make him want to cough.

"You look better," Scott said, smiling. "How're you feeling?"

"Hungry," Virgil said truthfully, making his brother laugh.

"Grandma's on the case."

Scott stood and stretched and Virgil wondered if his brother had moved throughout the entire afternoon.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I, um… thanks?" Virgil couldn't hold his brother's gaze. He was a grown man; he didn't need Scott to babysit him. But the coughing fit earlier had scared him more than he wanted to admit and he took comfort in having his brother there.

"You wouldn't stay in bed if I wasn't here," Scott said, sitting back down and picking his coffee up. "You need to get better, Virg. I need you out in the field with me."

"What was it like?"

Virgil drifted off again to the sound of his brother telling him about the rescue. It was dark when he woke, but Scott was still slumped in the chair at the end of the bed, also asleep. Virgil knew he should wake him up, tell him to go back to his own bed, but there was something about knowing he was there that meant he fell asleep before he had a chance to act on those thoughts.

His dad, as usual, was completely right with his prediction. By the following morning, Virgil felt much better. His throat hurt and his head and chest ached, but his appetite returned and his temperature had settled.

Scott forced him to take it slow as he got out of bed, but Virgil was eventually standing on his own, even if that meant gritting his teeth against feeling light-headed. With Scott's help, he made it down to the kitchen, much to his grandmother's delight.

"I'm gonna grab a shower," Scott said, squeezing his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"You don't have to watch me," Virgil said, blushing, "I'm okay."

Scott shrugged. "You haven't told me you don't want me there yet," he said, "so I'm staying."

He left before Virgil could answer, then his grandmother distracted him with breakfast. Virgil smiled softly as he heard Scott pounding up the stairs. He knew it wouldn't be long before his brother's protective nature would be annoying and he would be doing anything he could to get Scott to leave him alone.

But right now, he couldn't tell Scott to go away. He didn't care how needy that made him sound. He wasn't ill very often but when he was, it didn't matter that he wasn't the child who idolised his big brother any longer. It wasn't his dad's comfort he had turned to when he was young and it wasn't what he needed now either.

And Scott – _damn him _– knew that.


End file.
